“Let us then suppose the mind to be, as we say, white paper void of all characters, without any ideas: How comes it to be furnished? … To this I answer, in one word, from EXPERIENCE.”
John Locke, An Essay Concerning Human Understanding, 1690
Philosophers have debated whether our perceptual abilities should be credited to our nature or our nurture. To what extent do we learn to perceive? German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–
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Restored Vision and Sensory RestrictionWriting to John Locke, William Molyneux wondered whether “a man born blind, and now adult, taught by his touch to distinguish between a cube and a sphere” could, if made to see, visually distinguish the two. Locke’s answer was No, because the man would never have learned to see the difference.
Molyneux’s hypothetical case has since been put to the test with a few dozen adults who, though blind from birth, later gained sight (Gregory, 1978; von Senden, 1932). Most were born with cataracts—
Seeking to gain more control than is provided by clinical cases, researchers have outfitted infant kittens and monkeys with goggles through which they could see only diffuse, unpatterned light (Wiesel, 1982). After infancy, when the goggles were removed, these animals exhibited perceptual limitations much like those of humans born with cataracts. They could distinguish color and brightness, but not the form of a circle from that of a square. Their eyes had not degenerated; their retinas still relayed signals to their visual cortex. But lacking stimulation, the cortical cells had not developed normal connections. Thus, the animals remained functionally blind to shape. Experience guides, sustains, and maintains the brain neural organization that enables our perceptions.
In both humans and animals, similar sensory restrictions later in life do no permanent harm. When researchers cover the eye of an adult animal for several months, its vision will be unaffected after the eye patch is removed. When surgeons remove cataracts that develop during late adulthood, most people are thrilled at the return to normal vision.
The effect of sensory restriction on infant cats, monkeys, and humans suggests that for normal sensory and perceptual development, there is a critical period—an optimal period when exposure to certain stimuli or experiences is required. Surgery on blind children in India reveals that children blind from birth can benefit from removal of cataracts. But the younger they are, the more they will benefit, and their visual acuity (sharpness) may never be normal (Sinha, 2013). Early nurture sculpts what nature has endowed. In less dramatic ways, it continues to do so throughout our lives. Our visual experience matters. For example, despite concerns about their social costs, playing action video games sharpens spatial skills such as visual attention, eye-
Experiments on the perceptual limitations and advantages produced by early sensory deprivation provide a partial answer to the enduring question about experience: Does the effect of early experience last a lifetime? For some aspects of perception, the answer is clearly Yes: “Use it soon or lose it.” We retain the imprint of some early sensory experiences far into the future.
Perceptual AdaptationGiven a new pair of glasses, we may feel slightly disoriented, even dizzy. Within a day or two, we adjust. Our perceptual adaptation to changed visual input makes the world seem normal again. But imagine a far more dramatic new pair of glasses—
Could you adapt to this distorted world? Baby chicks cannot. When fitted with such lenses, they continue to peck where food grains seem to be (Hess, 1956; Rossi, 1968). But we humans adapt to distorting lenses quickly. Within a few minutes your throws would again be accurate, your stride on target. Remove the lenses and you would experience an aftereffect: At first your throws would err in the opposite direction, sailing off to the right; but again, within minutes you would readapt.
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Indeed, given an even more radical pair of glasses—
At first, when Stratton wanted to walk, he found himself searching for his feet, which were now “up.” Eating was nearly impossible. He became nauseated and depressed. But he persisted, and by the eighth day he could comfortably reach for an object in the right direction and walk without bumping into things. When Stratton finally removed the headgear, he readapted quickly.
In later experiments, people wearing the optical gear have even been able to ride a motorcycle, ski the Alps, and fly an airplane (Dolezal, 1982; Kohler, 1962). The world around them still seemed above their heads or on the wrong side. But by actively moving about in these topsy-